


Driftwood

by Taselby



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taselby/pseuds/Taselby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby is collecting things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driftwood

****X-Men comicverse, set soon after Bobby started transforming to ice, but before the transformation was complete. Bobby is collecting things.

  


  


  


  


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It was shortly after the secondary mutation began to manifest that Bobby began collecting driftwood.

He couldn't explain it, his fascination with the gnarled shapes, the satin texture of the grain -- or rather wouldn't have explained, if anyone had bothered to ask.

In his heart -- he choked a bit on that thought, wondering if, or when the ice would reach his heart, and what would happen to him then -- in his heart all he knew was that water had touched this wood and made it something _other_, something more. It had been transformed.

And now the water was touching him.

Bobby had said before, entirely serious for once in his life, that if there were an upper limit to his power, he hadn't found it yet. And that thought alone was frightening -- the notion of limitless power. The rest of the math -- another of the few things he was good at -- wasn't difficult. Humans, even mutated ones, had limits. His power did not.

The Phoenix in Jean's body was an object lesson he would never forget. Was this his own version of that, to culminate in madness and...

Death? He didn't want to die, but the thought of being trapped in a body of ice was its own horror.

There’d be no dramatic battle and suicide on the moon for him, no. No one to even cry over his body when there would likely be no body to cry over. Just the slow hunger of the ice and the transforming touch of water.

Bobby ran his fingers slowly over the polished burl of driftwood, never seeing the beauty, only the change.

* * *

 

 


End file.
